


Practical Solutions

by Meilan_Firaga



Series: 25 Days of Christmas Fics - 2016 [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Sick Character, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8783611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga
Summary: Arya is sick. Pod wants to take care of her. Arya knows that he gets sick at the drop of a hat. She's not going to be the reason he does this time. Pure goofy fluff.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Day 7 of my 2016 attempt at 25 Days of Christmas Fics.
> 
> Prompt 7: Cookies/Baking

“You shot me.” Podrick’s eyebrows were kissing his hairline even as he gazed forlornly down at the splatter of red paint on his t-shirt. He stood framed in the doorway of Arya’s bedroom, his feet still planted on the hardwood floor of the hallway outside.

On the bed, Arya pumped the loading mechanism of her paintball gun again. “If I have learned anything in the time that we’ve been dating, it’s that you have the immune system of an anorexic baby goat.” She leveled the gun at him again, bracing the barrel against her raised knee. “I am sick. I am contagious. The last thing I want is to get you gross and miserable alongside me. Now, you take one step past that door and I will coat you with paint--or poop. Jon and I got drunk and made poop ammunition once, but we mixed it in with the regular stuff. It’s a crap shoot. Don’t fucking touch me.”

Podrick leveled her with his most reasonable stare. She hated that look. It meant he was about to say something completely sweet that was backed by actual logic. “Arya, how am I supposed to take care of you if you try to shoot me every time I come to the door?” That was exactly the type of cute, logical response that she hated. The guy could see somebody sneeze and end up with ebola, but all he was worried about was making her feel better. It was hard to argue with him when he gave an answer like that. Still, she narrowed her eyes and kept the paintball gun steady.

“Unless you can find a way to take care of me without crossing that threshold, you don’t.” 

She’d been hoping that he would hear that and go home, running from the possibility of being shot again. Instead, he leaned back against the banister in the hallway, crossed his arms over his chest, and considered her thoughtfully. The only thing worse than Reasonable Pod was Pondering Pod. Reasonable Pod would just talk at her. Pondering Pod had a fifty-fifty shot of digging in his heels like a stubborn mule or wandering off to do something completely ridiculous. After what felt like forever at the receiving end of his calculating stare, Pod nodded once. “Rest. You need it to get better,” he told her with one of his gentle smiles. Then he turned and walked away.

“Hey!” Arya shouted over the sound of his retreating footsteps. Pod didn’t stop, and the stairs creaked beneath his weight. “Don’t go getting any bright ideas!” Her voice croaked at the last word, launching her into a coughing fit. She dropped the paintball gun over the side of the bed and curled into a ball on her side. “This sucks.”

The house was quiet for a long time. Well, as quiet as it ever got with a group of harpies all sharing one living space. Her roommates and their significant others were always around and always loud. Between the shouts from the gaming session going on in the living room and the constant opening and closing of doors she had no way to tell if Pod had left or was still somewhere in the house being shifty. At some point, she drifted into a fitful sleep, alternately burrowing beneath her blankets and tossing them off as her fever shifted.

Arya awoke some time later to find a plate of snickerdoodles hovering just at eye level. She flailed up with one arm, intending to smack Pod for coming too close to her germs. Her arm found nothing but air. Tilting her head off the pillow she’d been burrowed in revealed her room with no other human occupants. Confused, she propped herself up on her elbows and leaned over the plate of her favorite cookies. Under the plate was a weird cross between a crane and a remote control car. It skidded back a couple of inches and then scooted forward to smack into the bottom of her bedframe. Cookies rattled on the plate. One of Arya’s nostrils cleared in that odd, sudden way that sinuses sometimes do mid-illness, and she was suddenly assaulted with the scent of the perfect blend of spices topping the cookies.

“I baked them just like you like them.” Pod’s voice drifted through the doorway. The little robot drew back from her bed again and made a little turn to show off the cookies. “I figured they’d be a better test item than soup.”

Honestly, it was embarrassing that she hadn’t thought about her boyfriend’s weird hobby. Pod was wicked smart, and he’d been competing in robot battles since he was a kid. “They’re perfect,” she croaked, reaching out to take the plate before it fell. She set it on her nightstand and looked up to the door. Pod smiled at her even as he manipulated the controls to steer the robot back to him. “But now your bot is contaminated.”

He waved her off. “Got it covered.” Before the robot bounced against the toes of his boots he produced a can of Lysol and sprayed the whole thing down. “Good as new,” he chirped. He leaned down to prop the control pad against the wall, producing another remote from his pocket. “I...uh...hope you don’t mind,” he stammered a bit, gesturing through the arch. Following his vaguely waving arm, Arya found that her television had been moved to a different corner of the room. “I had Sandor move it while you were sleeping since he never gets sick. You’ll have to lay the other way to get a good view, but we can watch a movie together like this.” 

The screen flickered to life. Arya readjusted so her head was lying at the foot of her bed, dragging pillows and the plate of cookies with her as she went. By the time she was settled and the opening credits of Mad Max: Fury Road were rolling, Pod and dropped to the floor and was tinkering with the bot. “Whatcha doin’, nerd?” she asked, her mouth full of cookies.

“Stabilizing the delivery arm,” he answered without looking up. “You have to eat something besides cookies at some point.”

“You do know that you could have just asked any of the other chicks that live here to bring me food, right?”

A flush crept across Pod’s face. He refused to look away from the robot. “I should be the one to take care of you.”

“You jumped straight from practical to mad science, didn’t you?” Arya huffed out a small laugh when he didn’t answer her, focusing intently--and purposefully--on the task at hand. He was a dork, but he was hers. Her big, sweet, entirely over-thinking dork. “Hey, Pod?”

“Hm?”

“If I find out you moved the TV and not my sister’s monster doofus boyfriend I’m going to shoot you again.”


End file.
